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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996389">all this, and love too, will ruin us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomvape/pseuds/phantomvape'>phantomvape</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the tim vapes au [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, they are just having a nice morning that is all :)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:26:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomvape/pseuds/phantomvape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Tim’s flat is cozy in a way that Martin’s is not. Everywhere he looks, there’s signs of life. Signs of Tim. And something funny happens in Martin’s chest when he wakes up in Tim’s bed, buried under his pile of thrift-store quilts.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the tim vapes au [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all this, and love too, will ruin us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from Richard Siken's poem 'Scheherazade'.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are a lot of things Martin likes about Tim’s flat. He likes the soft shag rug in the living room, the mismatched set of plates in the cupboards. He likes the ridiculous amount of blankets on every chair, even though Tim never seems to use them. He likes that there’s no kitchen table, so they always eat on the couch with their knees knocking into each other. He likes the windows in Tim’s bedroom, and even the kitschy floral wallpaper in the tiny bathroom. </p>
<p>Tim’s flat is cozy in a way that Martin’s is not. Everywhere he looks, there’s signs of life. Signs of <i>Tim</i>. And something funny happens in Martin’s chest when he wakes up in Tim’s bed, buried under his pile of thrift-store quilts. </p>
<p>Now, Martin tries to struggle his way out from under that pile. It doesn’t help that Tim has both arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Martin carefully pries away the fingers on his sides, “Tim, let go.”</p>
<p>Tim groans against Martin’s shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze before allowing Martin to escape. He immediately rolls over on the warm spot Martin’s left behind. </p>
<p>“Oh, you prick,” Martin murmurs, pulling one of Tim’s wild curls. </p>
<p>“Ow, fuck!” Tim burrows further under the blankets.</p>
<p> “Babe?”</p>
<p>Martin hums, pulling on his boxers. </p>
<p>Tim’s voice is muffled, “Pass me my vape?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely not.”</p>
<p><i>Ridiculous</i>, Martin thinks, as Tim huffs and pulls the blankets over his head. Martin assumes that’s the last he’ll see of Tim for at least another half hour. </p>
<p>There is only one thing Martin hates about Tim’s flat. It’s not the leaky faucets, or the noisy neighbors, or even the minor spider infestation. No, it’s that for some ungodly reason, Tim’s flat is always fucking freezing. </p>
<p>He’s begged Tim to invest in a space heater, but Tim becomes a cheap bastard over the stupidest things. Overpriced skincare products, sure, but a functioning heater? <i>No</i>, Martin, it’s <i>ridiculous</i> to spend money on something like that! </p>
<p>Today is no different. It’s early enough that the sun hasn’t broken through the windows yet, so Martin is already shivering. The solution, really, would be to climb back in bed and press his cold feet to Tim’s legs. But if Martin doesn’t make breakfast, Tim will just eat fistfuls of Lucky Charms straight from the box like a child. </p>
<p>So, the next best thing is to ambush Tim’s dresser and brave the cold. Martin’s smart enough not to try and take a blanket with him, after he nearly caught on fire while flipping pancakes. Instead he hunts for anything soft and loose enough to fit him. </p>
<p>His fingers still feel icy by the time he starts on breakfast, but he’s much warmer in one of Tim’s hoodies. He makes cheesy toast and eggs, frying them in sesame oil. He’s cooked breakfast enough times that he has his own shelf in one of Tim’s cabinets, stocked with gochujang and sesame oil and other essentials.  </p>
<p>“Tim?” Martin calls, when the eggs are sizzling in the pan, “Tim, are you up? We do actually have to go to work today.” </p>
<p>There’s some shuffling and whining before Tim stumbles into the kitchen. Martin is expecting a ‘good morning’, maybe even a kiss on the cheek. Instead, Tim makes a strangled sort of croak. </p>
<p>“What- uh, what are you wearing?” </p>
<p>Martin looks down at himself. The sweatshirt is a blinding shade of red, with Middlesex University printed across the chest. The sleeves are long enough that he’s rolled them up a few times. “Oh, I found it in one of your drawers. Sorry, I thought you wouldn’t mind.” </p>
<p>Tim is shaking his head before Martin even finishes his sentence, “No! Nope. No complaints. I definitely uh, don’t mind. You look really cu- er, <i>good</i>. I mean, fine. You look fine.” </p>
<p>It’s different from Tim’s usual compliments, his neatly rehearsed charm. Somehow, watching Tim’s ears turn red, it feels too earnest. Martin looks away from the unguarded… fondness on Tim’s face. He’s scared that if he looks too long, it’ll be something stronger. He’s scared that if he looks too long, it’ll be nothing at all. </p>
<p>The act of assembling their breakfast sandwiches at least gives Martin a chance to compose himself. “Well, thanks. I keep saying you should get your heating fixed.” </p>
<p>“Oh, well if all you need is someone to warm you up…” </p>
<p>Martin can practically hear Tim wink. Before Martin can turn and swat at him, a pair of arms are snaking around his waist. Tim pulls him close, hooking his chin over Martin’s shoulder. He is- ridiculously warm, really. Martin feels no shame about leaning back into Tim’s chest, trying to sap as much of that heat as possible. Tim laughs, and it shakes through both of them. </p>
<p>Tim shifts, pressing his mouth to Martin’s neck. It feels like Martin’s buzzing under his skin, lighting up everywhere Tim touches. He’s still new to this, this casual, intimate touch. It makes him shivery and warm all at once.</p>
<p>“Where the fuck did you even find fuzzy socks?” Tim mutters, words mumbled against Martin’s skin. </p>
<p>“They’re the ones you were hiding your pipe in,” Martin admits, “They smell like weed.” </p>
<p>“Delicious.” </p>
<p>“You are <i>disgusting</i>. Let go so I can eat.” </p>
<p>They eat on the couch, plates balanced on their knees. Martin curls himself under Tim’s arm. His fingers are still a little numb with cold, so he slips them under the hem of Tim’s shirt. </p>
<p>“Hey!” Tim jolts, nearly dropping his plate, “Asshole.” </p>
<p>Martin only laughs, digging his fingers in when Tim tries to wriggle away. “What? I just need someone to warm me up.”</p>
<p>“Okay! Okay, smartass, I’ll call someone to look at the heater,” Tim shoves Martin away, ruffling his hair until Martin retreats. </p>
<p>They eat in silence for a while after that. Tim turns on some talk show, but the volume stays low. The sun has started to rise higher, throwing bright beams into the room. Martin licks runny egg yolk from his fingers. He sponges the rest from his plate with the last bite of his sandwich. </p>
<p>He’s about to get up, when he realizes Tim isn’t eating. He has his sandwich in one hand, halfway to his mouth, but he’s just staring. </p>
<p>Tim is staring at Martin. His eyes soft and nearly <i>wondering</i>, like he’s amazed that Martin is the person he’s sharing his mornings with. </p>
<p>And that’s- well, Martin doesn’t quite know what to do with that. He feels something warm under his skin, something overwhelming and lovely. </p>
<p>Martin knows how to be honest with himself, and he can admit he is very unused to the feeling of being loved. </p>
<p>The second he catches Tim’s eye, Tim startles. He rushes to look away and cram a bite of sandwich into his mouth. The tips of his ears are red again. Martin intends to reach out and pinch one, to tease Tim for being such a sap today. Instead, he ends up gently touching his fingers to the soft skin behind Tim’s ear, sweeping his thumb over the bolt of Tim’s jaw. </p>
<p>And then, because Martin has always been a bit of a coward, he flees. He gathers his plate and retreats back into the kitchen. It’s embarrassing really, to like Tim as much as he does. They had always agreed this <i>thing</i> between them was just a bit of fun, but moments like that…</p>
<p>He’s not quite sure what they’re doing anymore. </p>
<p>Martin can hear Tim trying to speak around the food in his mouth. After a moment, Tim pops his head over the back of the couch. </p>
<p>“Are you- uh, are you sure we can’t call in sick today?” Tim asks. </p>
<p>Martin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, “Absolutely not. Sasha would kill us. And Jon wants me to investigate the Carlos Vittery statement.” </p>
<p>He drops his plate into the sink and runs water over his fingers. When he turns, Tim is there, leaning his hip against the counter. He’s doing that <i>thing</i>, looking at Martin from under his lashes. He practically stalks closer, making Martin feel very much like prey somehow. </p>
<p>“Oh sure, got to keep the boss happy,” Tim murmurs, pressing Martin against the counter’s edge. His fingers are tracing hot distracting trails up Martin’s sides, under his sweatshirt. </p>
<p>“Tim,” Martin warns, because they’re going to be late and then Jon will give them that <i>look</i>. The unreadable one, the complicated one that makes Martin feel embarrassed and-</p>
<p>“<i>Martin</i>,” Tim mocks, pulling Martin’s same chiding tone. He noses at Martin’s neck, his jaw, and finally slides one hand into Martin’s hair to pull him into a kiss. It’s slow and lazy, like they have all the time in the world. When Martin settles his hands on Tim’s hips, pulling him even closer, Tim breathes a content little sigh against Martin’s lips. It’s a new sound, one that Martin wants to hear again.</p>
<p>“Are you coming back here after work?” Tim asks, and <i>here</i> nearly sounds like <i>home</i>. </p>
<p>But Martin isn’t thinking about the future anymore. Not about work, or Jon, or the flat on Boothby Road that he has to investigate. For now, he is slipping a hand up the back of Tim’s t-shirt. For now, he is leaning into the warm palm cradling his cheek. For now, he is doing this. Kissing Tim, and being kissed back.</p>
<p>He’ll figure the rest out later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tim did not go to middlesex university. he bought that hoodie because it has sex in the name. </p>
<p>also martin blackwood is korean. i know this ok i met him.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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